


Spellbound

by unscriptedemily



Series: Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Your Advanced Defence Teacher [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Fluff, M/M, Room of Requirement, Room of Requirement Shenanigans, Roy is such a DORK, SO SORRY, So very sorry, alright bbye, although they're not very shenanigan-y, not that you really need to know anything about it, okay, there is no smut involved, this is the sequel to A Very Hogwarts Valentine's Day by the way, why are they like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-22 11:04:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4833035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unscriptedemily/pseuds/unscriptedemily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the fire crackling soft before them, and the stacks of books a wall between them and the door, and the door a wall between them and the rest of the world, they are safe here. Safe with the promise of many more days like this to come, and next Hogsmeade weekend, and- of course- countless Advanced Defence classes for Ed to fall asleep in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spellbound

**Author's Note:**

> A few things:  
> 1) this is the sequel to [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3355688)  
> 2) I wrote this instead of writing pianist!au, which is bad  
> 3) I haven't posted anything in years probably, and I am very sorry about that  
> 4) my excuses for said not-posting include: school starting again two weeks ago (and killing off all my inclination to write along with it), writer's block, lack of inspiration, injuring my hand playing basketball, and general laziness !!!!  
> 5) hope u enjoy <333333

 

Roy finds Ed where he knew he would; where he always is: the Room of Requirement, surrounded by stacks of leather-bound tomes, cross legged on the floor in front of a blazing fire.

He closes the door gently behind himself, moves forwards, and sinks into an armchair so comfortable he closes his eyes, sighing in contentment. In front of him, eyes flicking rapidly over line after line of text, Ed turns the page.

His hair shines golden in the firelight; flames leap in the depths of his eyes; there is ink smudged across his cheekbone and he’s sitting on his cast-aside robes, tie loosened over the rumpled white shirt, and Roy…

Well. Suffice it to say that Roy knows, with a pang to his heart, that he never really will get over the sight of Ed, Ed, Ed: Ed at any moment is magnificent, and now is no different.

The fire crackles, and slowly, Ed looks up, light glancing over the planes of his face as he turns to look up at Roy. He smiles, lazy, and Roy swears he feels his heart _crack._

“Hey,” says Ed, stretching, “’S been a while.”

“About two days,” Roy agrees, “I came to make sure you hadn’t wasted away. Alphonse is worried you haven’t been eating- Gump’s law and all that.”

Ed wrinkles his nose. “Al’s stupid to worry, I’m not an _idiot_. There’s a passageway to the kitchens.” He shrugs. “The house elves bring me shit all the time- I tried tellin’ ‘em not to, but- you know how they are.”

“Quite.”

Roy can’t stop staring at him. Just- can’t stop. Can’t tear his eyes away from Ed, Ed’s mussed hair, the faint, _faint_ smattering of freckles barely visible on his cheeks- remnants from the summer just gone- Ed’s crooked tie, Ed’s quirked grin, Ed standing, picking his way carefully through his mounds of books, Ed throwing himself unceremoniously on Roy’s lap with a yawn.

“You’re very heavy, for someone your size,” Roy tells the side of Ed’s head, and is rewarded with a stormy scowl and a sharp elbow in the ribs. “Ow.”

“Serves you right, bastard,” says Ed, and buries his face in Roy’s neck. “Mm. ‘M cold.”

Roy strokes a hand lightly over Ed’s head, carding his fingers through his ponytail and back up again. He bends to press a kiss to the top of the golden head, and Ed wriggles his face deeper into Roy’s collarbone, embarrassed. Roy smiles, and he’s never, ever been so fond of anyone, ever.

“Why is it,” he asks, “that you near enough propositioned me in class last week, and yet you go that charming paint-bomb colour at the smallest sign of affection?”

Ed yanks his face away from Roy’s neck, face burning. “Shut up! I- I did not _proposition_ you, you fucker- and I’m not- not-!”

 _God, Ed, I_ love _you_.

Out loud, Roy laughs. “Not what? Embarrassed? And, Ed, I’m sorry but you’re really nowhere near to mastering even the _basics_ of subtlety. I thought I was honestly going to get arrested. ”

Ed smacks at his shoulder. “I told you to shut _up_. I’m not _embarrassed_ , you’re just- just.” His eyes flickers down, then up to Roy’s face, and back down again. He flattens his palms against Roy’s chest and stares at them, a frown crinkling his brows. His voice is a mutter, as close to a low whisper as Ed gets, and Roy knows they’re moved past teasing, now.  
It’s a rare thing, for Edward Elric to use this lowered, red-cheeked voice, and Roy strokes a thumb over his cheek and tries not to think about how very, very in love he is.   
“Just. Sometimes. No one’s ever…touched me. Like that. Just- affectionate. I mean, Al- but that’s not, you’re not, I’m not- No one ‘cept Al’s ever actually fuckin’ cared about me before, you bastard, and you just go an’ make it all _sappy_ and _stupid_ and sometimes I just can’t, alright?”

The air hangs thick between them, Ed’s eyes are glued to his own hands, which have fisted themselves in Roy’s shirt, and his cheeks are dark, dark red.

Roy leans down, tilts Ed’s chin up, and kisses him.

Ed makes a small noise against him, relaxes, tangles his fingers in Roy’s hair, and Roy runs his thumb over Ed’s cheekbone, over the ink smudged there, and breaks back, smiling open and warm and fondly.

“Ed,” he says, “I love you.”

Ed rolls his eyes, wriggles to fit his legs either side of Roy’s, and takes hold of his collar.

“Love you too, idiot,” he says, and kisses him again.

 

***

 

“What are you researching?”

Ed looks up from his parchment, wand tucked behind his ear, and Roy raises an eyebrow. Ed heaves a sigh.

“Why d’you even wanna know, bastard?” he asks, and huffs a laugh. “Wait, don’t answer that. You’ll probably say something sappy, and then I’ll throw up on you. It’s just alchemy. Old alchemy, not like the shit we have now, which is, like, thirty percent less efficient than the old methods…what we use now is, like, a completely different branch. ‘S almost completely dependent on modern magic, which is _not_ the point of alchemy; alchemy’s an entirely different fuckin’ type of magic to the magic we use now; people always disregard the extra symbols and the writing- they think it’s just bullshit the old alchemist’ s made up to fill space. But me ‘n Al think it’s a code. Something _else_.”

Roy is a defence against the dark arts teacher. He doesn’t know much about alchemy- what he does know, he learned _years_ ago, when he was still a child, still interested in things like ancient magic and strange runes and complicated circles.

So, he’s not an alchemist. But Ed is, and watching Ed talk about alchemy _sparks_ something in Roy; the way Ed’s gaze turns intent, fierce, when he’s talking about alchemy rekindles some of Roy’s old interest. It makes him want to pull a stack of books towards him and join in. It makes him want to _learn_.  
And besides, if every-day Ed is magnificent, then Ed-talking-about-alchemy is _above and beyond_ ethereal _._ Ed pauses to flip through some pages, pointing out a roughly sketched array, and he is _otherworldly_. Roy’s chest tightens.  
Ed talking about alchemy _lights up_ , his eyes brighten; he’s more self-assured: _I know exactly what I’m talking about_. He’s vivacious, bold, he gesticulates wildly and tosses his hair out of his face; he _glows_.

He is mesmerising. Roy can feel the barbed hook tugging at his heart, and he doesn’t even care. He’s caught, and worst of all, he’s _happy_ about it.

Ed looks up, tosses his hair back. “Stop staring at me, bastard, I know you’re not listening. Jeez…you could at least _pretend_ to care,” he says.

“I do care,” Roy says truthfully, and smiles wryly. “It’s just that you distract me.”

“ _I_ distract you?” Ed is bewildered, and sceptical that anything could be more distracting than alchemy.

“Indeed you do,” Roy says, admiring the way the light plays on his hair. “The firelight look really very lovely against your skin, you know.”

“ _Really very lovely_ ,” Ed chants back at him, and puts his book to the side, grinning. “Well, it’s not like it matters. I’ve read all there is to read- the Room only comes up with certain books and the restricted section doesn’t anything good to offer; I’ve checked it at least fifty fuckin’ times.” He huffs out a sharp breath, leaning back on his hands.  
“’S fucking annoying, but ‘s not like I can do anything about it. The internet has better shit to offer, but since Al gave the spell to Mei, _everyone_ found out and now you can only get connection at, like, three a.m. at the top of the Astronomy Tower, so I can’t just Google shit every time I have a new question…” he trails off, thoughtful, eyes far away and peering shrewdly into the distance, all sharp intellect and carelessly sprawled limbs.

Roy leans forwards. He’s moved from his armchair seat to the wooden floor, amidst the towers of books, to be closer to Ed. The sacrifices you make for love, he thinks; his rear end is going numb.  “The internet,” he says, “Remind me what that is, again?”

Ed tears his gaze away from nothingness in order to bark out a laugh and kick Roy in the ankle. “Shut _up_ , bastard, you know full well what the internet is. God. Purebloods, half-bloods- all of you are crazy. At least _some_ of you are comin’ round to our way of thinking; if you’d caught up with muggle technology ten years ago there’d never be this goddamn lack of information! Me ‘n Al saved everyone’s _lives_ by inventing that spell; d’you have any idea how much the mental illness statistics have gone down in the past three years _alone_? Fucking hell, it’s bad enough having to write with fucking _quill pens_ , no _internet_ …”

Roy hears this rant at least eight times a week, and he’s happy to say he hasn’t got tired of it yet. It’s just- it’s hilarious, and really rather endearing, and also _extremely_ humbling, to see Ed in his element, dappled with flames and throwing up his hands in frustration with the wizarding world at large.

Still, Roy’s got papers to grade, and he really only meant to stay a few minutes, to make sure Ed was still alive and pass on Alphonse’s worries, and then leave. Then again, he should have expected it: where Ed was involved, plans rarely went the way you wanted them to. Roy still remembers the great house cup fiasco of two years ago…

“-fucking exams every damn week, you do realise there’re kids here with _murdered family members_ and no one’s set up any kind of support system? You all think the muggle world is shit, but in terms of emotional welfare they’re doing a _damn_ sight better than the supremist fucking ignorant dicks over at the Ministry-,”

“That’s true,” says Roy, quietly, “But, Ed, it’s you speaking up about things like this that’s helping to solve them. A scheme’s gone through to all wizarding teachers recently- I’m not sure if you know about this- that focuses on mental health and wellbeing in students. Mental illness is slowly being accepted. You’re changing minds, Ed. You and Al- I know I say this a lot. But you coming here has literally shaped the wizarding world, and you’re not even out of school yet.”

“Two more months,” Ed mutters, “until I leave school. So. ‘S not that great anyway- I mean, yeah, it’s good an’ all, but…we’re just pointing out flaws that have been here for _centuries_. Someone should have done it earlier. Someone probably _has_ done it earlier, but they were probably muggleborn, so no one fucking _listened_ to them. It pisses me off that my- that Hohenheim’s fucking influence is the only reason anyone listened to me ‘n Al in the first place.”

This, too, is something that Roy has heard before- not as often, but still, frequent. Ed’s relationship with his father is still unclear to Roy, but he gathers that something happened, to make Ed hate him with a ferocity usually reserved for supremist ignorant ministry dicks.

He won’t pry. Asking Ed about his parents, or bringing up his past- Roy’s learned that these are no-go zones. Something inside Ed has been hurt, badly, and it’s still raw and bleeding. Roy can only hope that by supporting Ed- by being there for him, god, all he _wants_ is to be there for him- he can help the healing process.

He nods, and Ed sighs again, tilting his head up to the ceiling. The silence is comfortable, and warm.

“Hogsmeade next weekend,” Ed says, into the quiet, and Roy looks up at him. A faint blush is staining hid cheeks, and he keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the stray cobwebs looping across the ceiling. Roy feels a smile tugging at his lips.

“Indeed it is,” he says, and waits.

“Are we…I mean, do you- Three Broomsticks?”

“Do I three broomsticks?” Roy asks, and pretends to give it some thought. “Well, I don’t know. I tend to keep my three-broomsticking strictly to an extracurricular activity, and I must admit it’s been a while since I picked up the hobby. I’m sure that broomsticking as a verb is something that you excel at, as you excel at most things, and-,”

“Fucking hell, do you _ever_ shut up?” Ed brings out the child in Roy; he can’t help it. Can’t help being dragged into Ed’s gravitational pull, can’t help smiling and laughing and feeling light as air when faced with him, this vision of gold and red and firelight.

“I’m sure I do sometimes,” Roy says, “At night, possibly. Although I have been told that I talk in my sleep before.”

“Doesn’t fucking surprise me,” Ed says, and jabs a finger at Roy’s chest. “Hogsmeade. This weekend. You and me. A repeat of last time, except with more firewhisky and less awkward eye contact.”

“What will the eye contact be, if not awkward?” Roy asks, leaning forwards to catch Ed’s outstretched hand and tug him closer, “Just think of it: a repeat of four- or was it five?- months ago; a back table at the Three Broomsticks, shielded by a rather ingenious cloaking spell, limited to two firewhiskies only, the grazing of our eyes as we take it in turns to stare longingly at each other, to look away before the other notices our attention…”

“Oh, my god,” Ed says, but he shifts along the floor, and he lets Roy take his other hand. “Stop fucking _talking_ , Roy-,”

Roy doesn’t break his sentence, and instead shifts so he’s facing Ed fully, holding full eye contact and clasping both of his hands.

“The way you would flush that wonderful fiery red every time I so much as looked at you, the arguing- that fundamental part of our existence, the way you insult me so tenderly-,” Ed’s insults are the farthest thing from tender, sometimes, but Roy has been given the metaphorical shovel and he is determined to use it.  
“And let’s not forget my inability to form complete sentences before you interrupted me with some variation of ‘shut up, Mustang, you’re wrong,’ that was very romantic of you, too-,”

Ed splutters, red-faced again, and Roy laces their fingers together. Four and a half months, since their very first date, and for all Roy is digging his hole, he can’t stop remembering it himself, the churning of his stomach, his constant dread of making a fool of himself, of overstepping a boundary or saying something wrong- it probably hadn’t showed, but he’d been a nervous _wreck_ , and Ed…Ed had been incredible, of course. Even in his school uniform and after an all-nighter that left him on-edge and tired, he was incredible. Roy had seen him walk through the doorway of the bar, golden eyes glancing around to find Roy in the crowd, and something in his throat had seized up and his mouth had gone utterly dry.  
  
“Actually,” he says seriously, lowering his voice, holding Ed’s eyes with his own, “I’m not being fair. It was a wonderful date. And I would very much enjoy doing it again.”

“You- I-,” Ed flounders for a moment; Roy sees his inner battle of whether or not to be angry play across his face, and then he softens, tears his gaze away and flushes dark, squeezes Roy’s fingers carefully. “Shut up. You just want to kiss me in the middle of a crowded room again, you fuckin’ exhibitionist.”

Roy pretends to be injured. “I take offence to that, Edward, “ he says, “It may have been in the middle of a crowded room, but may I remind you of the cloaking spell? That’s hardly exhibitionism.”

“Someone could’ve walked into us.”

“The possibility was very small. We were by the back table.”

“Someone could’ve seen through the spell.”

“If they had, I think we’d know about it by now.”

“You just like the sense of _danger_ ,” Ed says, wrinkling his nose, and Roy laughs, lifts their clasped hands and presses a kiss to Ed’s fingers.

“I suppose I can’t argue with that,” he says, and Ed grins, crooked and with an edge of teeth, and moves to position himself under Roy’s arm, back fitting neatly against Roy’s chest, their legs tangled.

“’s okay. I kinda liked it too,” he says, and Roy raises his eyebrows, letting go of Ed’s hands so he can wrap his arms around his waist, instead.

“ _Did_ you.” Roy bends his head to kiss Ed’s cheek, and he makes a small humming noise of contentment in reply.

They stay like that for a little while- exactly how long, Roy has no idea; there’s no clock in here (he suspects that has something to do with the fact that Ed’s sense of time all but disappears when he gets buried in a book) and he’s far too comfortable to get up and find out- until Ed turns his face to press his cheek into Roy’s shoulder and mumbles,

“You’re distractin’ me, Mustang, I’m meant to be working…and…instead…”he breaks off, yawning, and Roy, who has been playing with little pieces of Ed’s hair, stops and pats him on the head.

“You should get some sleep, Ed.”

“…No. Gotta…do s’m more r’search…”

His voice is quieter, his eyelids drooping. His head lolls warm and heavy on Roy and he smiles, so very fond of him.

“You can do it in the morning.” Roy shifts a little to extricate his wand from his inside pocket, and transfigures the armchair into a mattress, complete with pillows and a quilt. “Come on. When’s the last time you had a full night’s sleep…?”

Ed makes a half-hearted attempt at complaining when Roy lifts him up and deposits him on the mattress, but eventually he just rolls over to press his face into the pillows. Roy watches with amusement as Ed toes off his shoes, grumbling.

“I slept,” he says, drowsy but defensive, and Roy raises an eyebrow, smoothes his hair back.

“I’m sure you did.”

“Shut up. I sleep. I just- I’ve got stuff to _do_.” His voice, already muffled by the pillows, drops lower. “’Sides. If I sleep, I’ll just have nightmares…I don’t wanna dream that anymore.”

Roy falters in running his hand over Ed’s head; nightmares? Ed hadn’t mentioned nightmares before. He’s fallen asleep in Roy’s class before- Roy used to take it as a personal offence, but now he’s learnt that it’s more to do with Ed’s ridiculous habit of staying up for days at a time and less to do with his teaching prowess- and he’s never had nightmares there.  

“Nightmares, Ed?” he asks softly, and Ed sighs into the pillows and wriggles to get under the covers.

“’S not too bad,” he says, but he’s not a good liar even when fully awake, let alone half asleep.

Roy doesn’t know what to do. If he presses further, Ed will clam up and refuse to tell him anything- this is as much honesty as Roy is getting, he knows that. After all, Ed always has walls up; they wouldn’t come down this easily. Actually, Roy suspects that Ed isn’t as sleep-addled as he seems. Is this some kind of test?  
Roy doesn’t know what to do. All he wants is Ed’s happiness; it seems easy in his head but, again, where Ed is involved things are rarely as easy as they seem at first glance; he wants Ed to tell him things because with all this not-knowing he’s just worrying himself sick over Ed all the time, but at the same time he knows that Ed isn’t ready to tell him everything, not yet.  
And he won’t pressure Ed into doing anything. _That_ , he is determined, is set in stone.

So instead of pressing for more, he is silent, and goes back to stroking Ed’s hair, and after a while, Ed’s breaths even out, and he sinks a little more into the mattress, sprawled and finally something like relaxed.

“I love you,” Roy says to him, and Ed makes a small murmuring sound into the pillow, breath sighing out of him, but doesn’t open his eyes.

Roy stands, slowly, once he is sure that Ed’s asleep, and makes for the door after ensuring that none of the books are too near the fire. He has a hand on the door handle when Ed says his name.

“Roy.”

He pauses, turns back, and Ed’s eyes are cracked open, little slivers of gold. He repeats it again, louder. “Roy.”

“Yes?” Roy moves back over, kneels beside the mattress, and Ed sighs, a deep, tired sigh, and lifts a heavy hand to pat clumsily at Roy’s arm.

“Stay.”

What? “Wh- Ed?”

Ed’s eyes open a little wider, and he frowns, patting more vigorously. “ _Roy_. Stay. Just- I can’t…I don’t wanna be on my own. An’ maybe…maybe if you’re here, I won’t have nightmares. Okay?”

Roy hesitates, unsure, and Ed grabs his sleeve and _yanks_ him down onto the mattress with a surprised _oof_.

“It’s just _sleeping_ ,” Ed mutters, as Roy gingerly slides under the covers, “Why’re you always so _careful_ with me? ‘M not gonna _break_.”

So Ed had noticed. Well. “-I know. I know. I’m sorry.”

Ed shakes his head a little, grabs Roy’s arm and drapes it around him, shifting along until his nose is buried in Roy’s neck, breath hot against his clavicle. “You’re a dumbass,” he tells him, and Roy –smiles, softly, rests his cheek on Ed’s hair.

“I know that, too,” he replies, and Ed snorts, kicking him.

“Shut up,” he says, “sleeping now.”

“Okay.”

“Shut _up_.”

“I am.”

“ _Roy_.”

“I love you.”

Ed kicks him again, winding his arms around Roy so that they’re hugging, pressed chest to chest and warm and, yes, sleeping in clothes is never going to be comfortable but despite it all, Roy really doesn’t care.

“I love you, too,” Ed replies, smiling into Roy’s collarbone, and yawns again. “Go to sleep.”  
 The light has dimmed, the fire a low glow in the background, as though the room is responding to the mood. Remarkable magic, it really is. Roy closes his eyes.

Ed’s breathing slows again; eyes closed and surrounded by Ed-smell, Roy feels himself drifting off, too. Who knew the day was going to end like this? He has _such_ a lot of marking to do, too…and he really should plan his lessons for tomorrow…but he’s so _warm_ , and Ed is nestled against him, and his mind is wandering, and really, he’s so tired, he might as well just…

Fall asleep. With the fire crackling soft before them, and the stacks of books a wall between them and the door, and the door a wall between them and the rest of the world, they are safe here. Safe with the promise of many more days like this to come, and next Hogsmeade weekend, and countless Advanced Defence classes for Ed to fall asleep in.

That night, Ed’s dreams aren’t what one would constitute as _good dreams_ , but they’re not nightmares either- and he hasn’t had that kind of much-needed break in weeks.  
Roy falls asleep with a smile, and as the night closes in around them, his last waking thought is of how very, very deep he’s fallen, and how he really doesn’t care how to get back up: in Roy’s opinion, open skies have got nothing- _nothing-_ on Edward Elric.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
